


Words of the Past

by LeiMcCartney



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Actor Will Graham, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Caring Hannibal Lecter, Depression, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mutual Pining, Possessive Hannibal Lecter, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Unhealthy Relationships, artist Hannibal Lecter, mute will graham
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2020-02-16 10:45:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 17,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18689923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeiMcCartney/pseuds/LeiMcCartney
Summary: A mute ex-actor, Will Graham has fallen into a despondent state until a dinner out with his friend, Alana, gets him to cross paths with one artist Hannibal Lecter who says his soulmate words....however, Will can't say anything back.Hannibal just wants to keep Will next to him.





	1. Chapter 1

The room was quiet and still, the sunlight peeking into it through the cracks of the shades. Will's eyes lazily traced the odd pattern of the ceiling, a cigarette dangling from his fingers, warming the coldness that they often were. A resounding ache echoed through his body, chilling him and making him curl to his side, facing the window, his knees tucked into his chest.

 

Everything always seemed so bleak. After the accident, life had seemed to have lost color, and even his dogs weren't enough for him. It had pained him to give them away but they deserved to live in a house that wasn't in a constant state of mess and filled with smoke that could harm them. Will's eyes shut as tears gathered at the bottom of his eyes. He put the cigarette to his lips and took a long drag, feeling the heat fill his lungs and he breathed it out, feeling the nicotine rush into his system.

 

Will Graham hadn't always been a pathetic human who laid in bed all day. Once upon a time, he had been an actor of the top caliber. His schedule was always full, and his PA, Alana Bloom, always had people calling her about movies and TV shows that they wanted him on. He was at the prime of his game when...when the accident happened.

 

It had been just like any other day from the coffee in his hand out of the door to the unruly traffic of New York City. From the stained pavement of where someone had dropped a beer the previous night to the blaring horns of the taxis. People had ebbed and flowed past him, each face blurring into the stream of the usual traffic. Everything had seemed so.... normal. Nothing could've been out of the place. How was Will supposed to know that someone would decide to crash next to him that day?

 

The sound of metal grating against each other, the heat of the explosion, and god, Will's breath shuddered, the pain had been horrendous. The doctors said that if it had been even an inch closer, he would've died immediately. Sometimes he wished that it had. That it hadn't left him collapsing on the side of a dirty New York City road that reeked of piss and garbage, hands weakly coming up to clutch his neck where blood was spurting out like it would in a bad horror film. He could remember the ugly feeling of choking on his own blood, the metallic taste imprinted in the back of his throat for days to come; he could remember wondering what would happen to his dogs if he died now.

 

After that, everything was a darkened blur, from the people that swarmed around him to the ambulance that took him to the hospital where they had him hooked up to pain meds.

 

Will's hand traveled down to his wrist. He'd been in the hospital for a while as they tried to fix his throat, but they couldn't save his voice. They had left that on the side of 37th Ave, along with his career. The tabloids had gone mad when they found out.

 

'Actor Will Graham in tragic accident that stole his voice--or was it an insurance scam?'

 

The very fact that they thought he would've let himself be mute for the insurance fraud made him angry. Some thought that he was faking it because he was tired of the celebrity life, but they couldn’t be more wrong. He had loved acting; it helped him deal with his overactive empathy that made it hard for him to be a normal person. It was easier to slip into someone else's life and character than to try and navigate his own.

 

Alana had been the one to encourage him into the limelight, finding him his first role as Adam in a 2003 film. The rest had been history.

 

But now, Will let out a soundless scoff, now he was just another one of those washed up actors that people thought about in passing. Sighing, he sat up, letting his legs dangle over the side of the bed, almost finished cigarette in his hand. He took a last breath of it, regarding it as he slowly let out a line of smoke. A part of him wanted to put it out on the skin of his thigh, distantly wondering if that would help him feel something...anything. He closed his eyes before putting it out on the ashtray next to his bed. It sizzled, breaking the silence that had permeated the room until that point.

 

Standing up, Will grabbed the pack of cigarettes that had fallen next to the bed and shook another one out. Just as he was lighting it, his phone let out a sharp noise that startled him. Scowling, he went to see who it was, losing the scowl when he saw that it was Alana.

 

'Hey Will, I'm going to be in Baltimore today and I was wondering if you wanted to meet up? I know it's been rough, but it would be nice to see you.'

 

For a while, Will had fancied himself in love with Alana. Something about the curve of her smile or the sparkle in her eyes had drawn him to her, but it had quickly faded when she revealed that she was already married. After tapping the ashes from his cigarette, Will typed out that he could see her, asking for the time and place.

 

She replied instantly with the name of some local restaurant in Baltimore and at 6. He turned to the alarm clock that was lying face down on the bed stand. 2:44 PM. That gave him enough time to shower and at least look like he hadn't spent the last month lying in bed, drinking and smoking his depression away.

 

The shower was slightly too long, and he came out with his skin flushed and slightly pink from the scrubbing he had done. Looking the mirror was a pain, because he looked exactly as he had felt. His beard was unruly and obviously untrimmed. The circles in his eyes spoke to the insomniac nights that haunted his nights, and even the blue in his eyes looked muted. The person staring back at him was a contortion of what he remembered-- a gaunt ghostly wisp of a figure left in the absence of actual Will Graham. The only thing that remained that reminded him of the old Will was the words that ran  along his ribs. His Soulmate words.

 

What a joke. Who would want a soulmate as pathetic as him? An ex-actor that couldn’t do anything except live off the money he made in his prime. Will sighed and ran a hand over the beard. He couldn't go to Alana looking like a woodsman; he took out the razor that he'd forgotten that he had.

 

In a few minutes, his face was smooth and clean, helping at least a little with the disheveled and tired look, although now he definitely looked like he'd lost like ten years. Well, at least he didn't look too bad now.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will meets Hannibal

Driving was weird. It left Will with too much time to think. With too much freedom. He could just... leave if he wanted to. Leave everything behind and disappear into ghost towns that would mirror his silence. It reminded him too much of the power this machine held, the dangers it posed. His therapist told him that having a fear of cars was natural, but that wasn't really what had scared him. Not really. His dad had raised him to be able to fix and dismantle boats and cars, but despite this, images of flying car pieces and pierced skin still dragged his dreams into nightmares. A pervading sense of wrongness in his bones.

 

Alana was waiting at one of the outside tables, sunglasses perched on her nose and her phone in her hand. He checked his watch to make sure he hadn't left her waiting too long. 6:06 PM. Not the best, but it could've been worse. He tapped on the table as he approached, giving her a smile as she looked up.

 

"Will, it's so nice to see you!" He nodded in response, letting her stand up to hug him, returning it gently.  "It's been too long. How have you been holding up?" Taking out his phone, he typed out his response.

 

'Could be better'

 

She made an empathetic noise, letting out a soft yeah.

 

"You know if I could've been here sooner, I would've. But work's been busy and--" Will covered her hand with his, nodding understandingly. She smiled and a waiter approached them asking them what they wanted to drink. Will texted Alana and she ordered water for the both of them. It was easier to just let her take the reins than it was for him to explain his muteness to every single person.

 

"Your throat looks better." Alana said, her eyes fixed on the scar that had been left behind. "The scar's starting to fade." Will nodded, putting a hand to the aforementioned item, feeling the bump. It was a miracle that the only thing permanently affected was his loss of voice. "Margot says hi too by the way."

 

'How is she?' Will texted.

 

"Well, that's part of the reason why I wanted to meet you today, Will." She reached across the table and held his hands in hers, looking into his eyes with unbridled joy. "She's pregnant, and we figured since you were part of our first words to each other, that we would be honored if you were the little one's godfather."

 

Will's mouth dropped open in shock and he stood, coming around the table and hugging her tightly. The two of them had been trying to get pregnant for who knows how long now. Alana had met Margot during Will's fourth movie where she had been working as a director. Alana's Soulmate mark had said, "Is this the infamous Will Graham?" and Margot's had said "He's the best Will Graham I know."

 

He quickly typed out his congratulations on his phone, sniffing as he tried not to cry. There was definitely a sense of overexcited joy coming from Alana that was giving his empathy hell.

 

'Of course, I'd be happy to be the godfather. How far along is Margot?'

 

"3 months now." Alana's grin was infectious.

 

The waiter came back and put down their waters also putting a basket of bread down in front of them. The smell coming from them was heavenly. Alana thanked him and asked for a little bit more time on ordering food.

 

'I'm so happy for you, Alana. You deserve the world.'

 

She laughed.

 

"You're such a flatterer, Will." She sipped her water, eyes crinkled. A part of him, that Will was struggling to push down, felt an odd sense of panic and despair at hearing about Alana's future kid. She was moving on with her life and Will was still stuck in the same mindset as he had been two years ago when the accident first happened. Pushing the nauseating sense of loneliness that emerged in him, Will grabbed one of the breads set down in front of them.

 

Filling the silence, Alana began talking about one of the projects that she was working on now. While Will had been the main actor she represented, she also had other entertainers that she worked closely with. He nodded as she talked, tearing the bread into smaller pieces before eating it.

 

As he absentmindedly put another piece of bread in his mouth, Will jumped as he felt a nudge on his leg. His head swirled down, eyes widening at what was next to his leg.

 

A dog. Will’s mouth broke into a wide smile as he turned completely in his seat to face the brown-furred dog that immediately went wild at the attention it was getting, jumping into Will’s lap and licking the ex-actor’s face. Laughs tried to come from Will’s mouth but his throat just slightly ached, breathy sounds being the only thing that comes through. The dog barked happily and something in Will fiercely hurt at the memory of his own dogs that he had given up.

         

“Beatrice, darling,” a voice admonished behind Will, and the dog responded to the name, head turning to the voice. Will couldn’t take his eyes off of the small beauty in front of him, hands petting the well-groomed Beatrice. Just from the other’s voice and the appearance of Beatrice, Will could tell that her owner was well off and probably somewhere from eastern Europe. Just as he was about to turn towards the owner, Alana beat him to it with a surprised, “Hannibal!”

 

Will’s friend stood up from her place and went around the table to hug the man. Will risked a glance at the man and found his heart skipping a beat at the sight before him. Part of him had already fallen in love with Beatrice, but her owner, this Hannibal, was something else. This man had to be an actor friend of Alana’s because there’s no way that this man could be anything else. Properly tailored clothes accented a figure that lead Will’s eyes up to sharp cheekbones and maroon-red eyes that caught Will’s breath. The other seemed to have already been staring at Will despite his words being directed at Alana.

 

“Hannibal, it’s so good to see you. How have you been?” Alana smiled. “I haven’t seen you since the charity event. Let me introduce you to my friend, Will Graham.” She turned to Will who managed to let go of the dog long enough to stand up, wiping his hands on his jeans.

 

“It seems that my darling is quite taken with you.” Hannibal murmured as he reached out to shake Will's hand. Everything froze at that moment. The ebb and flow of the conversations around them seemed to pause and Will's eyes locked onto Hannibal's, a knot in his throat as he was suddenly hyperaware of the words that lined his ribcage, in a fanciful script. It matched the appearance of his apparent soulmate. Just as he felt a hope rise in him, Will felt it crash down as he became hyperaware of the scar on his throat and the dull ache that reminded him of one harrowing fact…he couldn't talk. Will gave the other man a tight smile, shaking his hand as he felt a cold and jarring disappointment when he realized that there's no way Hannibal would have his words. The other man started to give him a confused look before Alana cut in.

 

“Oh, sorry, Will was in accident a few years ago and can’t speak.” Alana gave Will an apologetic look and he simply shrugged at both of them. It seemed that Hannibal was equally disappointed though it wouldn’t have shown to anyone else. Will’s empathy managed to catch the slight downturn of Hannibal’s mouth. He took out his phone and quickly opened the notes.

 

‘Your dog is beautiful.’ He turned the screen to Hannibal who immediately smiled, reaching down to run a hand down Beatrice’s head.

 

“Yes, she is. I adopted her a year ago.” Hannibal agreed, eyes flickering up to Will. A thoughtful look came over his face. “This may be presumptuous of me, but you are…simply divine, William.” A light blush painted Hannibal’s cheek, making him even more unreasonably attractive. The compliment made Will’s head duck. “I am a painter and I don’t usually ask this upon meeting someone, but I would love to paint you.”

 

Will struggled to open his phone, feeling flustered all of the sudden. His soulmate didn’t even know that they were soulmates and was treating him like this? God, what would this obviously sophisticated man do when he finds out that Will was a loser that spent his days smoking? Quickly typing his dissent and apology, Will was about to turn the phone when Alana came between the two of them with a wide smile on her face.

 

“Oh that’s wonderful, Hannibal! Isn’t it, Will?” Alana put a hand on Will’s arm. “Will, trust me. Hannibal is one of the most prominent artists in the United States, having studied in la scuola d’arte.” She gave him a pointed look and he looked between the two of them. Will could probably use the money, although being around his soulmate who didn’t know about their bond would be hell. There had to be some way to discourage this.

 

‘I don’t really want to travel anywhere right now and I live in Wolf Trap.’ Will typed, putting his hands up in a ‘what can you do?’ motion.

 

“Well, of course I can accommodate to your preference.” Hannibal took a step closer, his eyes seemed to be trained on Will’s lips before sliding back up. “There’s no need for you to travel at all. I will go to you if need be.”

 

‘My place is a mess.’ Will protested.

 

“I won’t judge you on that.” Hannibal insisted and Will was about to snap back something rude on his phone when Beatrice who had remained dutifully calm until she seemed to sense Will's agitation and jumped up. His heart melted as she licked his hand and he smiled gently. Hannibal seemed to catch onto this and teasingly said, "I'll bring Beatrice if that'll make you feel more comfortable."

 

Will was truly fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those that have commented! You've made my world!


	3. The Silence

The entire drive back to Wolf Trap was a blur filled with a rollercoaster of feelings. He partly blamed his father for not allowing him to have dogs as a kid which led to his adult love for the canines which led him to situations like this where he gave in at the slight promise of interacting with one. Which only led to head banging on the wheel of his car as he tried to get the image of Hannibal fucking Lecter out of his head.

 

He had left soon after Will had weakly agreed to be painted at his house. Alana had elbowed him with raised eyebrows, saying that he had snagged himself a hot one. It had taken the entire dinner for him to stop blushing.

 

Then again, Will looked around his house, he had a lot of cleaning to do if he was going to have his soulmate over. Especially one like Hannibal that seemed to act like if he was foreign royalty that blessed the ground he was walking on. The only thing that seemed to have stopped Hannibal from kissing his hand like some kind of princess of the olden days was Will's deathly grip on his phone.

 

Even then, Hannibal had briefly touched his arm, the heat of his touch lingering like a burn. It was mesmerizing. And yet, despite the weird schoolboy type crush that was rising in Will, there was still the question of whether he was Hannibal's soulmate. He'd heard about half soulbonds, but it was so rare that Will had never even considered.... he'd never had to consider before his accident. And even then, it hadn't even occurred to him that he might've lost his chance at a soulmate with the loss of his voice.

 

Will shivered, feeling suddenly cold. How much would that stupid crash take from him before it would become a memory? How much would Will have to suffer before he could finally let go of that stupid car crash?

 

Breath shaking, Will dug out the cigarettes from his back pocket and went out of the house to the porch. The air outside was still and cool on his overheated flesh, helping him to calm down. There was something about the silence that was comforting to Will. For a while, he had been scared of the silence, both his own and the natural one that came with living in nature, but then he had somehow found a kinship in it. He had found a friend in the silence that nature provided, letting it envelop him like an old acquaintance coming in from the cold.

 

Especially now that there was gnawing sense of change on the horizon. Swallowing a hard lump, Will bit his lip, putting out the cigarette on the porch balcony as he turned back inside. He had to clean the house.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal POV

Adonis incarnate. Eyes bluer than the sky the day his sister had been taken from him. The very sight of Will Graham had electrified his senses and awakened him like if he had been in a slumber all these years. Hannibal knew that this man was meant to be in his path, regardless of their soulmate marks. For why else would a man like him be put before Hannibal unless God or some other entity willed for their meeting to happen. The man's lack of reaction to his first words had caused Hannibal to be slightly disappointed, but it didn't deter the painter from asking for more time with the man.

 

While there was undoubtedly a beauty to Will, it was more in his eyes and the hard turn of his mouth that Hannibal found himself drawn. The paradox of gentle beauty and the weariness and darkness that begged itself to be known, calling to the beast in Hannibal like a siren song. The other man had seemed aloof, his guard up with Hannibal but it was too late to try and put up a front for Hannibal had already seen the way his features softened towards Beatrice. Oh, the poems that he could wax over the look on Will's face when looking at his dog like if Beatrice were Will's own child.

 

Sighing, the painter put down his charcoal, looking down at the rough sketch he had made. The sharp curve of Will's jawline greeted his eyes drawing him down the expanse of pale neck Will had exposed. He wouldn't attempt to draw the scar that adorned his neck yet but it hadn't marred the beauty, but rather emphasized it. Will Graham. His face spoke of a hidden and long suffering pain, like if he had walked the earth amongst the likes of Julius Caesar and fought in countless wars. Had seen humanity submit itself to the pains and horrors of anger and betrayal.

 

"What do you think, Beatrice, dear?" Hannibal turned to his dog that was lying down on the ground next to him. She instantly jumped at her name and panted, her tongue lolling out at the sound of her name. He showed her the sketch and she sniffed it before licking his hand, tail wagging. "I agree, dearest." He scratched behind her ears.

 

He stood up, hand wandering to where his Soulmate Mark was printed onto his skin. Even as a child, Hannibal had been fascinated by the idea of Soulmate Marks--fascinated by the idea that his perfect other half was somewhere out there, walking and breathing and living. Though.... it seemed as if fate had made a mistake, because Hannibal....Hannibal had the feeling that Will Graham was his other half, despite the lack of voice. Not to mention that " _Voyager 2️ will pass within 4️.3️ lightyears of Sirius the Dog Star in approximately 196 thousand years_ ” seemed more and more unlikely to be said to him every day. Regardless, his attention was captured.

 

"Will Graham, I don't know who your soulmate is, but you shall be mine." Hannibal promised darkly as he checked the time. He set down the charcoal and paper, finger lingering on the small curve of Will's smile. "I will have you for myself if I have to kill the gods themselves."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal comes over :D

It's almost midnight when Will finally finishes what he's going to clean of the house. The first look around had been discouraging with forgotten bottles of whiskey littering any available counters of the kitchen. There were countless makeshift ashtrays around the house and clothes scattered around, draping couches and chairs alike. It had taken hours for his house to finally be presentable, busting out an essential oils diffuser that Alana had gifted him some Christmases ago to try and drown out the smell of cigarettes and dirty clothes and alcohol. He doubted that it would help much, but Will would make sure to open some of the windows tomorrow morning to help air out the smell.

 

Sighing, Will flopped back down onto the couch, throwing his legs up on the armrest. A part of him felt relieved in an odd sort of way that his house was now somewhat clean but at the same time he knew that once Hannibal was eventually drive off and Will was left to his own devices, there would no reason for him to keep it clean.

 

In cleaning up, he had found one of the old dog toys underneath the couch. Meeting Beatrice today had rekindled the urge to get a dog, but Will knew that he wasn't stable enough to take care of another living being for now.  Maybe sometime in the future he could get a dog, but he wasn't at that point yet. Also, who knew how he would be able to get a new dog without a voice. All the tricks he had taught his old dogs were verbal, and he didn't really know how to teach a dog tricks non-verbally.

 

Will threw an arm behind his head and lifted a hand towards the ceiling, reaching towards it in an aborted movement. He had tried to learn to be someone without a voice, but it was hard and strange. His body wasn't his, and it had shaken him to hear himself in movies knowing that that voice would never come from his mouth again. There had been nights where he had silently screamed to the moon, begging the universe for another chance, promising to donate all his money to charities, promising to go to church every week, so many words offered to the heavens and refused to any ear. His dogs had licked the tears from his face that night.

 

Hannibal was the first one in a while that had given him any sort of attention. Back when he was at the prime of his career, Will couldn't go anywhere without being recognized for some role that he had just done. His face was constantly in movies and TV shows, award shows lined up. And now, after his accident, there were new actors and actresses that had taken up his fame, leaving him behind in the dust of old relics. It terrified him to not only be forgotten but also voiceless, powerless to even try and connect.

 

That's why.... maybe he had accepted Hannibal's offer for more than just another chance to see Beatrice. Maybe a part of it was born from a desire to be...wanted... to be adored even if it was just for his face. Will scoffed, frowning at himself. He sounded like a typical celebrity who didn't know how to let go of the limelight. The magazines and tabloids would've died to hear him say all of this.  God, he could only imagine the headlines: 'Despondent celebrity is attention whore, will do anything for love'.

 

But then again, Hannibal wasn't just anyone. Alana had forwarded him the painter's information and he was legitimately one of the most world-renowned artists currently. From what Will had seen online, his pieces had seemed so intimate, often elevating the subject of the painting to an almost godly status. Even one particularly ugly person had been portrayed like Hephaestus in a majestic, teeth-gritting way that tugged at Will. It made him wonder what Hannibal had seen in him to immediately ask him to model. Was he to be one of Hannibal's Greek Gods to be mounted in a snooty elitist art museum that you'd have to pay thousands to see?

 

A yawn escaped Will's lips and he sighed, dragging himself from the couch to the bed, tugging his shirt off in the process. He had gotten out of bed today, left the house, and even cleaned it. Today had been more productive than perhaps the entirety of the last month. He slipped under the blankets, shivering at their chill curling his legs towards himself. One of the things he had learned after giving his dogs away was that he had heavily relied on their warmth to get him through the night. Now he made up for it with four blankets that provided weight that he didn't know he'd missed. One of his hands trailed up and traced the words on his chest. Even if he isn't Hannibal's soulmate, maybe if he tried hard enough, he could be less lonely.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

His dream was murky. There was no other word for it. Darkness covered him, entered him, was him, fingers crawling up his arms and begged entrance into his mouth. Panic clenched Will's jaw and he struggled against the confines he was stuck in. His hands were trapped, unmoving, and it was giving Will a headache and panic attack. Where was he? Why was he trapped? Breathing in harshly, Will managed to bite the darkness in front of him, feeling and tasting blood in his mouth. It made him grin madly. In front of him materialized a...a figure whose horns stretched and stretched upward, dark eyes flickering from Will's mouth to the scar of his throat.

 

"You will be found." It rasped out, sounding oddly familiar.

 

In a sudden gasp, Will shot up from his bed, forehead lined with sweat and hands shaking as they came to circle his mouth, feeling for the blood that was there only seconds ago. It was a dream.

 

'It was a dream.' He mouthed to himself, breathing hard. 'My name is Will Graham. I am in Wolf Trap. It is..." He glanced at the alarm clock. 'It is 6:44 AM. I am fine.' His heart began to settle, but there was a lingering anxiety. He jumped as he heard a pounding on the door.

 

What the fuck? Will thought to himself, scrabbling up and out of his room, throwing on a shirt. Could it be someone who was trying to rob him? Or worse, was it one of those Jesuits? He opened the door, ready to fight whoever it was and found himself staring blankly up at a cheery Hannibal Lecter who was holding a leash in one hand and tupperware in the other.

 

"Good morning, Will." the other grinned and Will blinked slowly at him, trying to decipher if he was still dreaming or if it was actually 6 in the morning with Hannibal fucking Lecter at his door, looking like if this were a reasonable time for anybody to be awake.

 

Quickly taking a paper and pen from the desk next to the door, he angrily wrote out in sloppy handwriting: 'What the fuck are you doing here at this hour?'

 

The other looked down at the paper with raised eyebrows.

 

"Language, Will." The other admonished as he came in with a less enthusiastic Beatrice trailing after him. Will turned around, rolling his eyes as he let them in, feeling the chill of the outside on his sweat-soaked T-shirt. He became hyperaware of what he was wearing, or the lack rather, as he heard the door shut quietly behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank y'all so much for all the comments!! Y'all are awesome!!
> 
> FOLLOW ME ON TWITTER, IF YOU WANT 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Protein scramble

          The sight that Will had made, scarcely dressed, looking more like a lover returning to bed, made Hannibal worry for a second that he was going to get a nosebleed. This would definitely be something he would draw… or maybe paint later on. Will’s curls were stuck to his forehead, wet from what Hannibal could tell had been a nightmare. The scent of fear still clung to the other, wrapped tight around him like if it were a coat. The sun had shone directly onto Will’s blue eyes that were beautiful in the early morning light. The only thing that had fallen out of the marvelous image he made was the frown and down-turned lips on Will’s face.

 

          “Painting takes quite a bit of time, and I thought it would be best if we got an early start so as not to take up too much of your time.” Hannibal smiled, turning into the kitchen which was in a shabby state. It didn’t take too long to find a pair of forks and plates for both of them. “And to make up for the early start, I thought you would enjoy breakfast, made by yours truly.” He sat the container down on the table next to the window, seeing in his mind the image the two of them would make in the warm orange glow of the morning. “Nothing like a protein egg scramble to start the day, right?” He turned to Will with a smile.

 

          The other was standing close the entrance of the kitchen, eyes a bit clearer now, but still looking confused as Hannibal had made his way around the house. His brow was furrowed as he looked from Hannibal down to the paper and pen he still in his hand, looking at a literal loss for words. Beatrice, who had not been particularly excited about how early it was, found herself a corner to go back to sleep after quickly sniffing Will. The two of them made quite a pair, yawning.

 

"Come, Will, let's eat. We have a long day ahead of us, and I want to make sure you have enough energy to pose." Hannibal let his voice slide into a more commanding tone and it seemed to resonate with Will whose feet seemed to immediately carry him to the table without even a moment's hesitation. The other gave him a curious look as he sat down, letting himself be served the meal that the painter had prepared. The obedience was pleasantly admired by the painter who let his eyes slip down to Will's lips, something that did not go unnoticed if the sudden blush on Will's cheeks were anything to go by.

 

Perhaps it was Hannibal's infatuation but the creature before him seemed lovelier by the second, beauty blooming the more he gazed.

 

Breaking their eye contact, Will began writing something on the notebook, something Hannibal suspected was just so that they were no longer looking at each other.

 

'It smells good.'

 

"Well, I am not one to boast, but I do have some skill in the culinary arts." Hannibal said demurely as he took the seat across from Will, serving himself some of the eggs. "I'm an artist in a multitude of ways." With that, he speared some of the egg, bringing it to his mouth. As always, it was to the standard that he set himself to.

 

The other quirked an eyebrow as if to say 'so much for not boasting' before eating some of the egg himself. Surprise overtook his features and he inhaled sharply. Will's eyes riveted from the food to Hannibal, quickly jotting down a compliment before showing it to him.

 

'These are the best eggs I've ever had.' Will's eyes held his for a second to emphasize his point before digging into the food. It was always a pleasure to have his food be appreciated, so openly. 'Seriously, what is in this?'

 

"It is a simple scramble, Will." Hannibal took another bite. Before he could process the words coming out of his mouth, he said, "Maybe I could show you how to make them sometime."

 

Will nodded enthusiastically.

 

They finished breakfast after a few minutes, and Will insisted on taking their plates to be washed as well as Hannibal's tupperware. As Will washed the dishes, Hannibal went back to the entrance where he had discreetly placed his bag with his art materials. When he came back to the kitchen, Will was drying Hannibal's container, looking more awake, and dare Hannibal say, happier.

 

The other glanced at him as he finished drying it, his eyes not so discreetly wandering down Hannibal's figure, as if analyzing the clothes he was wearing. The last time they had seen each other, Hannibal was wearing one of his three-piece suits, his normal wear. However, he got the impression that Will would be intimidated if he came like that for their one-on-one. That's why he was only wearing a button up with a coat thrown over it. He could take off the coat and put on his artist's apron if  he decided to paint today. Most likely he would just be sketching today, getting familiar with the angles of Will's body.

 

'I'm going to go change. I'll be down in a minute. You can set up wherever.' Will wrote to him before heading up the stairs.

 

As Hannibal wandered through the rooms, he let himself analyze the surroundings. It was obvious that Will had not decorated it with aesthetics in mind, if the mismatching furniture was anything to go by. And yet, there was a fluidity of the mismatching elements. For example, in one corner there was fishing materials and what seemed to be a table to make bait, and in another room there were trophies. Before he could look to see what the trophies had been awarded for, he heard the tell tale signs of Will coming back down the stairs.

 

He had changed into a different T-shirt and a pair of shorts that seemed to be slightly too big for him.

 

"Today, I'm just going to be sketching you, getting the rough proportions of your body." Hannibal explained as he took out his charcoal and journal. The other nodded awkwardly as he moved to the couch, giving the artist a questioning glance. "You can pose however you wish for now. I will tell you if I need something different." He smiled.

 

The other gave a curt nod and sat down on the couch, fingers tapping nervously against his thigh. There was an anxious energy around him, and Hannibal thought to himself that there was no reason for them not to familiarize themselves with each other.

 

"Would you mind if I talked to you as I draw?" Hannibal asked, already outlining Will's sharp jaw. "I can ask you yes or no questions and you can write me anything you're curious about."

 

The other nodded, bringing his legs up onto the couch, leaning back against the armrest in a way that made Will look entirely more relaxed. In this pose, Hannibal could imagine him as the biblical King David when he was younger, leaning back as he watched the sheep that he was sheppard to. He roughly began on that image.

 

"It looked as if you had woken up from a nightmare when you opened the door."

 

The other gave him an incredulous frown but nodded slowly.

 

"Do you have them often?" A nod.

 

"Some say that nightmares reflect the anxieties of the real world, although I would wager to say that they are more of a reflection of the aspects one wishes to hide from the real world. A reflection of the absent and restrained personality rather than the presented one." Hannibal mused. "Do you fear the instinctual, Will?"

 

Will paused thoughtfully before shaking his head.

 

Hannibal hummed. "Then you are one of the few or you are lying." He glanced up at him, amused at the offended look Will threw at him as he grabbed his phone. Turning the screen to the other, he indicated for Hannibal to put in his phone number which the artist indulged. He then rapidly texted something.

 

The sound of a text message notification came from Hannibal's pocket and he looked at it.

 

'What are you? A shrink?'

 

The rudeness of the message surprisingly amused Hannibal who chuckled as he set it down on a nearby surface, close enough so that he could see it.

 

"I did once consider pursuing psychology while I was in the university, but my interests led me to the medical track."

 

A buzz next to him. 'Medical? I thought you were an artist.'

 

"Man has many faces, Will. I obtained my education to become to a doctor, and I even went through residency. In the end, my interest in art cultivated my pursuing this career." Hannibal admitted. "There is much more exploration of humanity in art than I was finding in the sciences. Although, learning the human body did aid me when I started my art."

 

'So you went from being a rich doctor to becoming an artist. You're every parent's dream and nightmare.' Will turned to his side, folding a leg underneath him and throwing his arm around the couch. He gave him a sardonic grin as he texted something else. 'Although I'm getting the sense that money wasn't really an issue for you.'

 

Hannibal nodded in concession.

 

"My family does indeed come from wealth which allows me to fully explore my interests without fearing financially. Although, my art has become enough to fund my lifestyle." Hannibal let his eyes wander down the arch of Will's neck to the hint of collarbone that peeked out from his T-shirt. It reminded Hannibal of the Soulmate words over his heart, words that Will wouldn't be able to say because of his limitation. Hannibal's eyes went to Will's scar, some parts still red from healing and others a more skin color.

 

Will seemed to have noticed.

 

'Are you going to be painting the scar as well?'

 

"Would you mind if I did?" Hannibal asked.

 

The other seemed to contemplate it before shaking his head. His hand touched it lightly before dropping back down to his side.

 

'It's a bit ugly. You don't have to draw it.' Will texted him, his eyes flickering to the notebook in Hannibal's hands.

 

"Everybody has their scars." Hannibal reassured him. "Everybody's skin is marred with some form of difference, like Soulmate words." The other's eyes shot up in surprise. "Although, of course, some do not have these marks for some reason or another. Regardless, I would like to draw the scar if it is alright with you. I believe it would be best to stay true to the model."

 

The other nodded, leaning back against the couch.

 

A silence fell between the two of them, a comfortable one that was born from a natural pause in conversation. Will had turned his head to look out of the window that was open to the forest outside. The sound of birds trickled into the house as the sun was making its way up the sky, and Will seemed to become calmer and calmer as time went, adjusting his position sometimes. He yawned, covering his mouth with a hand, giving Hannibal an embarrassed look.

 

'Sorry, a bit tired.'

 

"You're fine." Hannibal said as he moved his chair to a different angle. A vague idea of what he wanted to paint was starting to form, but overall, he was just enjoying drawing the other man as he was. The charcoal allowed him to add depth and shadow that was cast by the light outside. His eyes were the hardest thing to capture, because they were often looking away from him.

 

'So, you were a doctor. Now you're an artist and a cook. What other things do you do?' Will asked.

         

"I immensely enjoy the opera." Hannibal confessed. "I spent much of my youth in Italy and France, and I watched many during my days there. It seems that I carried those interests with me to the states, although it is much harder to find here."

 

'You seem like the type to do that sort of thing.'

 

Hannibal gave Will a curious look.

 

"What do you mean?"

 

The other blushed, looking down at his phone. He seemed to hesitate before typing.

 

'You just look like a fancy person that goes to the opera and owns a mansion. I mean, come on, the way you dress just gives off aristocrat vibes. You look like you stepped out of some Victorian regency drama.' The other's eyes flickered up to meet his.

 

"My taste can tend to be rather old-fashioned; I'll admit." Hannibal confessed, pausing. He went back to their original conversation. “One of my favorite hobbies is star-gazing.” He glanced up to see Will’s reaction but the other didn’t react at all. “If you can escape the light pollution of the cities, the night sky can be something heavenly to look at.” _Although it does seem as if the view could not get better than my current one._

‘You would love it here then. You can see everything out here in the woods.’ Will typed. Hannibal saw the way his fingers froze after he sent it before he rapidly typed something else. ‘I’m going to the restroom real fast.’

 

He fondly watched as the other sped away, the tips of his ears red. The artist would gladly take up the other’s offer to watch the night sky with him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal starts painting Will

As Will turned the corner to go to the restroom, he buried his face in his hands, embarrassed of what he had just said. He hadn’t even fully processed the words that he was texting until he had already sent the message, knowing it sounded like a proposition to the other. He had just gotten so caught up in their conversation, that seemed to be saturated with a familiarity that came naturally. Hannibal talked to him like they had known each other their entire lives, taking everything in stride, even Will’s sometimes rather rude comments.

 

He looked at himself in the mirror, running a hand through his hair. Will still didn’t see what the artist saw in him that made him want to paint him. He looked like a mess right now, and he hadn’t even shaved yet. If Hannibal had seen him during his better actor years, the request to paint him would’ve made sense. But, looking at him now… he had gained some weight and obviously not kept up with his self-care. And the scar.

 

His eyes went down to the ugly mark left from the car accident. It still looked horrific to look at, and any hope of attractiveness that Will might’ve had even after his depressive episode seemed to be squashed by its presence. He squeezed his eyes shut.

 

His soulmate had found him at his worst. At a moment when he couldn’t even say the Soulmate words back to him, looking pathetic and disgusting. Will couldn’t understand what in the world inspired him to think that this was a good idea. Sighing, he slicked his hair back, fixing it from the curly mess that it had been.

Even if he didn't truly understand why the artist was deciding to take pity on him and spend time with him, Will wasn't about to let his soulmate slip from his hands. And yet if he told Hannibal that his words were imprinted on his chest, Will wouldn't be able to bear the pitying look in his eyes.

 

Then again, maybe he could see if surgery wasn't possible. Every day they came up with new surgeries and discoveries, and who knows, maybe they could implant him a voice box or something, hell. Will stared at himself with a gritty determination and nodded. He'd come up with a solution.

 

Opening the bathroom door, he was met with a blur zooming past him and down the hall. A wide grin spread over his face as he saw Beatrice, finally awake, making an excited exploration of the area. Her tail was wagging behind her as she went around the room, nosing around the mess that Will's house was.

 

"I apologize; it seems that dear Beatrice has finally awakened." Hannibal said behind him, wiping his hands on the apron he had put on while Will was in the restroom. Seeing the man again had the ex-actor fighting down a blush. It was ridiculous that with his acting skill and usual lack of emotions, he was struggling not to act like a love stricken teenage girl.

 

Will gave him a smile before looking back at Beatrice and kneeling down next to her to brush his hands along her neck. Sniffing him, Beatrice lolled her tongue out and licked his hands before rolling onto her back in an adorable manner. For all that had been wrong these past few months, it almost seemed worth it for just this moment. Succumbing to her pleading, Will scratched her stomach, scrunching his face into a besotted look, smiling as the dog under him preened at the attention.

 

"You seem to have a fondness for dogs." Hannibal said demurely as he joined them, kneeling next to Will and running a hand  along her flank. His maroon eyes flashed up to his. "It's a pity you do not have any of your own. It's rather surprising to see that, considering your obvious adoration for them." Their fingers brushed as they pet Beatrice, neither making comment of it. Will swallowed and dug out his phone from his pocket.

 

'I gave them away after the accident.'

 

Will wondered if he should say more but decided to let Hannibal fill in the blanks however he wanted. The look the other gave him was understanding as he let it drop.

 

'You don't seem like the type to have dogs, with your refined taste and all.'

 

"Beatrice's previous owner had been...of the unsavory sort, not treating her as she should be treated." Will glanced up and was surprised to see Hannibal looking down at Beatrice with murder in his eyes. Not at Beatrice, but rather at the memory of the previous owner. Will immediately fell into them, seeing and feeling the anger and violence that had risen in Hannibal. This wasn't a civilian's anger at all; this was an encompassing, all consuming rage that Will had only really felt when he looked at crime scenes in the newspaper. It was the kind of justice-seeking fury that Will had mustered up during his darker roles on TV, something that he was often praised for and judged for. His empathy allowed him to sink into these mindsets, but he had never seen it so close. And certainly not from someone he knew. Hannibal must have sensed something was off, because his eyes snapped away from Beatrice and to Will, walls slamming up and hiding the rage.

 

"Not to worry, I took her off his hands and made sure he was properly tended to." A small, self-satisfied grin came over Hannibal's face. His entire demeanor read like the unassuming person Will had first come to meet, but what was that? What was it that Will had seen if even for a brief moment?

 

Then again, Will's eyes riveted to Beatrice that had rolled onto her stomach again, putting her snout on Hannibal's legs, enjoying the gentle scratches that were being given to her. If someone were to hurt as much as a hair on her body, Will would've killed a person. As a little boy he had left serious bruises on one of the neighboring women for leaving her dog in blistering heat which had left nasty burns on the dog's paws. If it hadn't been for fear of his father, he might've broken something.

 

Hannibal stood up in front of him and stretched out a hand.

 

"Come, Will, I'm going to start experimenting with the colors I want to use."

 

In this position, hand outstretched, body tilted towards Will, Hannibal seemed almost regal, like a storybook prince stepped out of a book. He took the hand and was pulled up, their hands joined for a second too long.

 

He followed the other man back into the original room they had been in, Beatrice tagging behind them before dashing forward and looking around the room. Hannibal had taken out a few paint tubes. Will tilted his head, silently asking Hannibal where he wanted him.

 

"Ah, could you sit in the chair opposite to me. We'll start with a simple face portrait." Hannibal smiled, waving a hand at the table he'd already set up. The ex-actor sat.

 

It was odd to be drawn or painted or whatever you would call it. Hannibal's eyes were constantly moving from the page to Will, and there was something intoxicating about being under his gaze, examined and taken apart, piece by piece. His eyes would linger on his cheek before sliding to his nose. Will abstractly wondered if this was how art felt like being stared at for months and months, unmoving.

 

"It seems to me that you do not have many family photos around the house." Hannibal said softly, eyes trained on his art. "For a man that seems to enjoy the company of others, there seems to be very little evidence of interaction with the outside world." A pause. "Besides your fishing gear."

 

Will snorted. Him? A people person. To his knowledge, he was one of the more elusive celebrities out there, interacting minimally with the press and perhaps even less with his fans although many stopped him in public when they saw him. No, Will had never been fond of people. They felt too deeply and expressed it too loudly. And he had also never really learned how to do small talk, no matter how hard Alana had tried to teach him. The closest he ever came was when people asked him for a smoke.

 

"No?" Hannibal asked with light surprise. "You've given me the impression to be rather good with people." He absently reached over the short distance of the table and grabbed Will's chin, angling it slightly to the left. The ex-actor's throat went dry at the feel of calloused fingers on his face, sure that his face was starting to turn red. The other blinked and let go. "I apologize. I've become accustomed to adjusting models as I need them for my art that I forgot to ask." The other seemed to be as flummoxed at his action, looking only slightly abashed.

 

Will waved his hand.

 

"Although, I'm surprised that you have never modeled. Your face is one I could easily see become popular." Hannibal said as he carefully mixed a color before raising it to compare with Will.  That comment put Will through a loop. Did Hannibal not know that he was an actor? Or rather, ex-actor? Some part of him wanted to reveal this to Hannibal, and yet at the same time, this level of anonymity was rather rare for someone like him. Most people would still be able to recognize him despite, or in some cases because, of his scar.

 

'My dad used to say my face was too pretty to be a country boy.' Will texted Hannibal and the other raised his eyebrows.

 

"Were you a country boy, Will?"

 

'Lousiana, born and bred.'

 

"Parles-vous Francais?" Hannibal asked with a teasing smile, sliding his brush down the paper. Will nodded before giving a 'so-so' sign.

 

'I know my Lousiana French, although I'm willing to wager that it might be different from European French.' Will sent him a smile and the other laughed.

 

"Seulement un peu, mylimasis." Hannibal murmmered as he put down the brush and wiped some paint that had fallen onto his wrist. His phone buzzed.

 

'Mylimasis? I've never heard that word before.'

 

Hannibal opened his mouth, unsure of how to confess that it wasn't French when thankfully, Beatrice saved him as she whined, nose pointed at the door to some room.

 

"Ah, excuse me, Will. It seems that Beatrice needs to be let out." Hannibal stood and led her out to the front entrance where she ran out quickly. He returned to the room, ready to offer a modified definition when he was interrupted by the sight before him.

 

Standing over his painting was Will Graham with tears in his eyes as he looked at Hannibal's work. His mouth was being covered by his hand as the other one bore his weight on the table. His frame was slightly shaking as he stared down at Hannibal's work like it was something heavenly, bestowed the gods themselves. For a moment, Hannibal stood there, somewhat enraptured by Will who seemed to be valuing his rather rudimentary work for something otherworldly. He looked so moved that Hannibal wanted to paint him like this, vulnerable and open and lain bare as frayed as that looked.

 

"William?"

 

The other jerked up, head snapping to the artist in surprise. He quickly turned away, wiping at his face, but the artist closed the distance between them and turned him around with a look of concern on his face.

 

Will looked up at Hannibal, face blotchy and red as he tried to hold in the sobs that threatened to overtake him. He had only meant to glance at the piece, to see how much Hannibal had done since they had sat down and was shocked to see his face framed by bright, blood-red pomegranates, looking....looking more beautiful than he should be given credit for. Hannibal painted him a god, a beauty, something that Will wasn't. Will had seen the care and attention Hannibal put into the painting, so he had seen the gentle and revered way paint was put to the paper, but he never imagined that someone would think to look at him...and see him like this.

 

Even his scar was on the page, but it didn't seem to look as ugly as it always did. It was simply there, a feature on him. His curls were not fuzzy and unkempt but carefully placed. And his eyes... they were still not completely painted but they were glowing.

 

The artist in front of him was looking at him with concern, hands lightly touching Will's arms and Will couldn't help but to lean in. The other took it in stride, gently hugging him as he cried lightly. Will shakily took out his phone.

 

'I've never seen myself as... amazing as I've seen in that painting. Definitely not after my whole throat thing. It's amazing, Hannibal.' Will handed the phone to Hannibal who quickly read it, face melting from concern to fondness.

 

"Will, this is what I see when I look at you. It's what everyone should see when they look at you." Hannibal looked from the painting to Will and he took out a handkerchief from his pocket and offered to Will who snorted with laughter. This odd combination of overwhelmed tears and relieved laughter made Will look so ethereal. It pained him that Will didn't seem himself the way he actually was.

 

"I think this is a good point to break for lunch." Hannibal said, gracefully changing the subject and allowing Will to gather himself. He turned towards the kitchen. "Would you mind if I cooked us something with what you have here? I can reimburse you for whatever I use."

 

There was a buzz in his pocket and he took out his phone to see what Will had texted him.

 

'First of all, if everything you cook is like what we had this morning, you don't have to 'reimburse' me or anything. Second, if you can find anything in my mess of a kitchen, _I'll_ pay _you_.'

 

Hannibal cast Will an amused glance over his shoulder who returned a mini shrug.

 

"I am sure that I will be able to find something." Hannibal opened the cabinets. "In the meantime, would you mind letting Beatrice back into the house and feeding her? I brought her some dog food and a bowl in my bag."

 

Will was all too happy to oblige.


	8. Chapter 8

Hannibal left after making them lunch with what little supplies Will had in his kitchen, insisting on leaving the small painting he had made at Will's house. If it had been up to Will, he would've said that Hannibal was already done. The small painting was so incredibly well done that Will would've taken it to be a finished project that was ready to be put on display in an art museum.

 

Beatrice had seemed sad to leave Will which only caused him to fall to his knees and give her a big hug.

 

"I suppose this means that you wouldn't mind if I came back to continue painting?"

 

Will shook his head and let his eyes linger perhaps a bit too long on Hannibal's lips.

 

'Even I did mind, after seeing what you can do, I'd be a dumbass to say no' Will texted him, giving him a sheepish grin as he scuffed the doorframe with his foot. He missed the quick flash of warmth in Hannibal's eyes at the compliment.

 

"Language." Hannibal settled on. "Are you available tomorrow?"

 

Will nodded and with that, they parted ways, and although Will shut the door before Hannibal had gotten into his car that didn't mean he didn't watch the other drive away from his bedroom window. The entire encounter had seemed like something of a dream, a soft, slightly hazy dream of someone spending time with him, not for what he had done in the past or out of pity but just out of...some odd semblance of genuine companionship.

 

There wasn't any doubt in his mind that someone as sophisticated as Hannibal had noticed the makeshift ash trays around the house or the messes that he had failed to see in his first cleaning of the house. In fact, even just from the kitchen, Hannibal should've done that thing rich people do where they act fake polite before running away. Whenever Will had gone to schools in rich areas, that's how they had always acted. Upon seeing Will's obvious lack of a prestigious upbringing from his Louisiana accent to the shambles of clothes he would sometimes be left with for months, his fellow peers from a better upbringing would steer clear.

 

Of course, when he had gotten famous, many of those peers would bring out the yearbooks and gush over the 'good old times' when they had gone to school together. Some would invent fascinating recounts of their apparent friendship, and Will always signed whatever they wanted him to sign before forgetting that they existed.

 

But Hannibal...Hannibal seemed like an anomaly. Maybe it was the fact that Will had been alone for a good part of two years now, but he got the impression that Hannibal was genuine with what he said. Genuine in the way he presented himself. His past was a mad clash of different professions, but his personality was consistent. Will sighed, running his fingers through his hair.

 

Or maybe it was just wishful thinking that this hot doctor-turned-artist would have any interest in him. But then again, he had asked if he was available the next day. Biting his lip, he looked at the painting that Hannibal had left. It was unfinished but Will had never seen anything more beautiful done for him.

 

The sight of the pomegranates surrounding him made his stomach rumble and Will turned towards the kitchen. Perhaps it was time to actually fill his kitchen up with food, especially if Hannibal was going to be coming tomorrow. Knowing him, he'd probably show up at 6-freaking-AM again, looking immaculate in some three-piece suit that emphasized his perfect waist and long legs. Will blinked, blushing as he realized where his thoughts had taken him.

 

Regardless of that, Will grabbed his wallet and keys. As he closed the house, he put a cigarette in his mouth, lighting it. It was time to go to the store. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

In another state, Hannibal Lecter was sitting in his kitchen, sporting a glass of 1989 wine, something smooth and from California that had been gifted to him by an admirer of his art. He often received gifts from patrons who were all too eager to fund his art. Some had tried to leverage their wealth in an attempt of becoming one of Hannibal's bedmates, but the artist was impressed by neither their riches nor their abuse of power. The ones that he had almost let into his bed were the ones who were able to tell him something about the galaxy and the stars, but in the end, he was always left disappointed.

 

And that's what he was worried about with Will Graham. He was afraid that this marvelous beauty that had stumbled into his path would result in frustration and hopelessness. Even without a voice, the man was wicked with his words and communication, and those eyes. Hannibal's own fluttered shut as he brought forth the memory of those blue eyes. They had shone so brilliantly when framed by tears, cheeks red. The sight alone had tempted Hannibal to quit his artist career and dedicate his life to the sole pursuit of capturing Will's beauty. How could people in this world have never taken notice of this man? Why did he live in some house in the deep forest of Virginia?

 

Who could have seen Will Graham and allowed him to escape from their clutches?

 

Fools. The whole world was full of them, and he was the one who benefitted. Because while others may have let Will continue venturing without them, Hannibal would not be so foolhardy as to let him go. The minute that Will Graham would let his guard down would be the minute that Hannibal shackle their wrists together and he drag him back to the safety and security of his own home. If it were up to Hannibal, the other would not see the light of day for fear of losing him. His chest thrummed with the possessive emotions that circled in him threatening to rise into murderous thoughts.

 

Taking a breath, he sipped the wine and took up the pencil he had put down in his contemplating. A half drawn photo of Beatrice looked back up at him and a small smile came over his face. Will was right to admire his darling dog; she was a beauty that Hannibal had taken a long time to take care of. When he had first seen her, she was being walked by a man who kept yanking her chain without a care for her health. At the time, Hannibal had no particular affection for animals, pets or otherwise, but something ugly in him had reared its head at the obvious maltreatment. Her fur had been matted and torn in some places, and she was so skinny that some of ribs could be seen despite not having had a trim in a long time.

 

It had, for a moment, reminded him of his sister who in her final days had been equally mistreated and disrespected.

 

It had only taken a quick jab to the throat for Hannibal to take her off the man's hands. Whether the man had lived or died from the attack was of no concern to Hannibal. All that had mattered was that the dog in his hands was now his to take care of. There were, of course, a few slip ups between the two of them. Hannibal hadn't known about nailcare at first, and Beatrice was taken to random bursts of peeing inside the house. In the end, with some careful training and mutual understanding, they had come to adore one another.

 

As if on cue, Beatrice came trotting down the hall and sat down next to where Hannibal was sitting, laying her head on his thigh. Fully turning towards her, he leaned down and pressed a kiss between her eyes. Perhaps he had become slightly intoxicated from the wine, but regardless, he brushed the fur down her back. She tolerated it for a few seconds before wiggling out of the embrace and leaning down on her front paws in an obvious attempt to play fight.

 

"Beatrice, no fighting in the living room, you know this."

 

She innocently dropped down onto her stomach, blinking like if she hadn't been suggesting that at all. Hannibal smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love the comments! Pls tell me if you'd like to see more of certain elements etc etc. Hope y'all continue enjoying the story!


	9. Chapter 9

          The amount of time that Will Graham spent at the store was embarrassing, mostly because the majority of it was spent on his phone trying to differentiate between the seven types of different oils that existed that were deemed as a necessity according to the top home cooking websites. There was also the fact that he hadn’t shopped for himself, at least in a healthy non-mac and cheese way, in years. Apparently, other people’s kitchens consisted of a variety of foods and materials that Will had just forgotten about. The poor kid in him was screaming at how much money he was spending, and he had to force that voice down as he handed over his card. The cashier had given him a strange look at all that he was buying, but Will just kept his head down, mouth pressed shut, before heading back to his car.

 

          The morning’s events kept playing in his head, like a clip on repeat, from the concentrated look on Hannibal’s face to the darkened tips of fingers that had captured Will’s attention. Even though he felt incredibly tired from the amount of activity that he had done today, Will also felt a sort of muted excitement about the idea of tomorrow, of spending more time with Hannibal who didn’t act awkward because of the lack of verbal communication. If it were possible, Will felt more like someone adored when he was with Hannibal than when he was a big name, big time actor.

 

          It had seemed odd to him that Hannibal hadn't known about his acting. While Will wasn't vain enough to think that everyone in the world would know him, he did think that his face had popular enough to warner at least a 'do I know you from somewhere?'. Then again, Hannibal didn't seem like the type to be up to date with newer movies, especially not the action-filled type that he had been in. Honestly, Hannibal seemed more like some sort of immortal being who had been around since the Victorian era by the way he talked and the way he dressed. Who walked around wearing a three piece just to walk their dog? Even today, with this dressed down version of Hannibal, he still had that aura of someone who had just stepped out of a period drama, making Will feel like some maiden who swooned at the sight of forearms.

 

          Shaking his head, Will came back to reality as he turned onto his road, seeing a motorcycle parked next to the place where he usually parked his car. It seemed vaguely familiar, scratching at the back of his mind like if he should recognize it. There was someone sitting on one of the chairs on his porch, and he parked, trying to see if he could recognize the person, but all he could make out was a leather jacket, and dark short hair. It put him on edge and he got out of the car.

 

          The person turned and Will’s eyebrows shot up.

 

          “Will.” Francis Dolarhyde nodded, giving him an awkward tight smile. Will returned it and nodded, taking out his phone.

 

          ‘Francis, what are you doing here?’

 

          Francis’ eyes skimmed over the message before looking back up at him.

 

          “Alana said that you would need your personal assistant again since you were working.” Francis said as he took out his phone. “She said that you were modelling for an artist, and that you might need someone to help you with looking the part.”

 

          A fondness spread in Will. That was incredibly thoughtful of her to do, but it was still surprising to see his old personal assistant on his doorstep with the sun almost on the horizon. He had asked Alana to hire Francis after they had worked together on a movie that required a lot of facial makeup for a scar that his character had. Francis had been the makeup artist who created the scar and because of that, they had interacted a lot and gotten to become friends, which was rare considering that Will wasn’t very good at relating with people.

 

          Eventually, they had come to realize that they had both felt trapped in different ways. Will, with his acting career that while it helped him with his empathy and to let it out in a healthy manner, was suffocating when it came to the press and the amount of attention he got. Francis, Will eventually found out, had a side to him that was angry and vindictive and almost feral, a side that Francis had labelled the Great Red Dragon after reading something when he was younger. It had made him feel trapped in the social niceties that he had to perform when all he wanted to do was rage and scream.

 

          After Will’s accident however, the ex-actor couldn’t take being around anyone, not even Alana, and so he had pushed everyone away, even angrily texting Francis that he was fired after the other had attempted to get him to go to therapy. He had even kicked the other man out with no warning. They hadn’t ended on a good note, and the thought of that sobered Will up a bit. His eyes flickered down the man, unsurprised to see that he really hadn’t changed, his arms still testament to how much he worked out.

 

          Hesitantly, he texted, ‘I appreciate you coming out here. I’m sure that you probably have other gigs going on now. I just wanna say I’m sorry for how I treated you back when the accident first happened. You don’t have to take on this job if you don’t want to.’ Will handed the phone over to him, eyes trained on the other’s face as he read it. The other’s eyebrows shot up and he shook his head.

 

          “Will, you were struggling and you were hurt. I should’ve been more…respectful of your boundaries and not have pushed you so hard. It’s been over a year now.” Francis laid a hand on his shoulder, eyes boring into his. “We’re still friends if you want to be.”

 

          Will’s throat closed up and he nodded, blinking rapidly. He wasn’t going to cry like a goddam child twice in one day. Fuck that. Taking a breath, he jerked his head towards his car with a questioning look on his face, and the other seemed to be able to tell what Will was asking, after having been his assistant for four years.

         

          “I hope you bought more than just popcorn.”

 

          Will whirled around with an offended look on his face, punching the other in the arm before heading towards the car. Something in him unlocked as he heard Francis give out a bark of laughter at the action. It looked like fate was on his side today because not only had Will gotten time to spend with his soulmate, but it had also brought him a friend.

 

          They brought in the groceries, and Francis shook his head at the state of the kitchen. Before the accident, Francis had often spent a lot of time here, helping Will in any way he needed. He was practically a live-in personal assistant who acted like a modern day butler. Perhaps there was multiple reason why Will hadn’t been able to keep the house clean.

 

          “The house is a mess.” There was a tone of exasperation in his tone, and Will shrugged apologetically as he started putting things away. The other started on one of the other bags. “Why do you have grapefruit? You hate it.”

 

          Blushing furiously, Will snatched it from the other’s hands and stuck his tongue out at him, grasping for his phone.

 

          ‘I read somewhere that you should always have one ready for when guests come over.’

         

          Francis gave him an unimpressed look.

 

          “I’m going to put this waffle iron in the closet, because you didn’t bring waffle mix.” Francis said. If it wasn’t for the fact that Francis knew him so well, Will would be embarrassed but the other had literally seen him do much more stupider things like unknowingly bring home one of his actress friends who had thought they were going to fuck. Dolarhyde had seen him cry at the screening of a sad movie that he had been in. Will smiled, feeling like the amount of happiness that was in was going to burst through his skin, like if all the depression and sadness that had plagued him for the past who knows how long was just a nasty dream and now he was awake again. And he wasn’t alone. It felt like he had never been alone.

 

 

* * *

 

           In the other room, Francis Dolarhyde was gripping the painting that Hannibal had left behind, a furious look in his eyes as his eyes took in the delicate expression on painted Will’s face. His finger followed a streak of red paint that fell from one of the pomegranates and grazed Will’s hair.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all, I ship Hannigram obv, but I also realized that there's legit only like one Francis/Will fic that doesn't have Hannigram as endgame and that made me sad. So....I'm probs gonna write one after I finish this. Would anyone be interested in that?


	10. Chapter 10

          Perhaps if Francis had never taken up the night guard position, he would have never stumbled his way into Will Graham's life. It was something of a miracle that those gorgeous blue eyes had ever even seen fit to look on him. It must've been fate that had crossed their paths together, the Great Red Dragon and the only one who could see him.

 

          Francis Dolarhyde had never claimed to be someone that people could relate to. In fact, most of his life he had stayed away from other humans who didn't care to relate to him. He was a loner, and he had been fine with being that for the rest of his life if he hadn't met Will Graham.

 

          They had met after Francis had talked to the makeup artists who thought that he would do well in the field after seeing his homemade tattoos that crawled up his arms. It turned out that he did have a talent for makeup after learning more about it. Everything had lined up perfectly for the two of them to meet.

 

          Will was on his 15th movie when they met. Some movie about a spy who fell in love with his target, and Francis had been hired on as an auxiliary makeup artist, to help with the scar makeup that the character was supposed to have on his face. Francis had already begun to make himself known as a special effects artist.

 

          Even now, the memory of Will sitting at the booth, fingers absently tapping the counter in front of him, took Francis' breath away, although at the time he wasn't aware of just how much the man was going to mean to him.

 

          He had taken Will's face in his hands and tilted it up to see the terrain that he was going to be working with. But when their eyes had met, Will's had grown bigger like if he was seeing something in Francis, something that others hadn't been able to see.

 

          "You feel trapped."

 

          These were the first words that Will had said to him. They were the words that were imprinted onto his skin, along his collarbone, and with those words, a shuttered breath spilled from Francis' lips as he stared at his soulmate in shock.

 

          Will had taken his shocked silence for confusion and tilted his head down in embarrassment.

 

          "I get it. I mean, yours feels more like something to do with your personality, but I know what it feels like to be entrapped in a persona that you've created and nurtured." He hesitated, hands coming together in an awkward fumble in front of him. "I have an empathy disorder, and an overactive imagination, which can sometimes let me see things that others can't. Sorry if I overstepped."

 

          Francis cleared his throat and shook his head.

 

          "There are worse things you could do than try and relate to someone." He said softly, gazing down as he watched for signs of recognition, but the actor just nodded, acting completely normal. Which only meant one thing… he wasn’t Will’s soulmate. A hopelessness had filled Francis at that point, before the Great Red Dragon took over, forcing him to turn around and look through the materials that he was going to be working with.

 

          The despair that had started to rise in Francis was pushed down viciously. _It doesn’t matter if this is a half bond. We can hunt this man down with our bare hands, pin him down, and force him to stay with us, by our side, this creature that can see us for who really are. Can see the power that lies in us._ His eyes flickered up to the mirror, looking at how Will Graham was looking at his phone, eyelashes delicately brushing his cheeks. Even if he wasn’t Will’s soulmate, Will was his and that was all that mattered.

 

          After that, Francis managed to get on Will’s good side and was eventually hired on by Alana Bloom as Will’s personal assistant, helping in whatever way he could. Most of the time that involved convincing Will to dress nicely for when he went out where the press could see him. But for the most part, it simply meant being around Will and acting as his bodyguard. The conversations they had were few, but Will seemed to appreciate that Francis knew when to be quiet and when to say something. Because of how far Will’s house was from even a nearby city, the actor had invited the other to come and live with him, clearing one of the rooms for him. It had been paradise, and Francis had gotten to see a side of Will Graham that no one else had. From the bedhead that Will always woke up with, to the drunken movie nights he had been made to participate in. And yet, during all that time, Francis still couldn’t summon up the courage to confess about his Soulmate Mark, comforted by the fact that out of everyone in Will’s life, he was the closest one. Even Will’s dogs had come to accept him as one of the pack.

 

          And for the time that it had lasted, Francis and the Great Red Dragon had been satisfied to remain at Will’s side, a constant shadow. But then…then the accident had happened, and Will had turned bitter and cold and jaded.

 

          Francis had tried to insist on staying with Will to help him, but the other had pushed him away, blocking his number and completely ignoring all of his attempts to reach him. Will had insisted that Francis move out, handing him a wad of cash as if that could compensate for the heartbreak that had coursed through Francis’ body, as if that could drown out the raging heartbeat that he felt through his whole body. It had angered the Dragon who wanted nothing more than to break down the door between them and to take him back to his house and show him who he belonged to. Even now, Francis’ temple hurt from the rage it inspired.

 

          However, he noticed that no one came to visit Will Graham, not even Alana Bloom whom had seemed to be Will’s only friend. At that, Francis let himself be shut out and forgotten by the ex-actor and set up cameras around the property to keep an eye on Will.

 

          For two years, Francis watched his soulmate wander from one corner of the house to the other. He watched him drive his dogs down to the shelter and tearfully give them away. It was only right that Francis bought them and was taking care of them while Will was going through his episode. He watched the man fall into a drinking problem and a nicotine addiction, watched the man hold knives tightly and too close to his skin, watched Will Graham wake up shivering in the night and tear tracks on his face. And Francis had been fine with it. As long as Will Graham remained just his, he was fine with the occasional visits to Alana Bloom.

 

          And then, this man, this Hannibal Lecter, showed up at Will’s door with a dog on a leash and a bag in his hand. But it wasn’t the look on Lecter’s face that angered him, as besotted as it was. No, it was the equally curious and hopeful look on Will’s face, the shy glances that he gave him. The dragon in him roared at this, demanding that he go in there and show them who Will Graham belonged to. But the human in him managed to calm the other down as he began formulating a plan. It seemed like Will Graham was ready to interact with the rest of the world.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanna say that I read and appreciate all of your comments and reply whenever possible :P I also take prompts if y'all have anything y'all wanna see 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	11. Chapter 11

          Will had insisted that Francis stay for a drink at the very least, to catch up and see what Francis had been up to. The other relented, taking a seat on one of the chairs on the patio, noticing that one of the old movie props that used to serve as decoration was gone. Actually, Francis noticed that besides a handful of trophies in one of the other rooms, there wasn’t any sign of his acting career around the house. Shortly before Dolarhyde had moved out, he had noticed that movie posters and other acting memorabilia slowly started to disappear around the house. He hadn’t paid attention to that when watching Will through the cameras.

 

          Then again, his attention was always captured by Will. It was hard to pay attention to other minor details when the man was on camera. Sometimes, if Will was closer to the cameras, his dogs would see him on the screen and whine. Francis remembered that one of the dogs, Winston, had been very upset the first time he had seen his previous owner on the screen, giving pitiful whines.

 

          His phone buzzed, bringing him back to the real world. Will was leaning an elbow on the table, looking at him through hooded eyes while holding a glass of some mixed drink in the other. It seems that while Francis had gotten distracted with his thoughts, the other had taken the liberty to continue drinking. He looked down at his phone.

 

          ‘Have you ever done makeup on someone who already has scars?’ Will had texted him. Francis looked up at Will who was definitely more than a little tipsy. Francis nodded.

 

          “Most actors and actresses have some scar somewhere on their body, so I have to cover it up if it doesn’t go with the character.” He said straightforwardly, contemplating. “Although most of the time, I’m the one putting on a fake scar, like with your characters.” Will’s hand twitched on the table in an aborted move towards his neck but he instead texted something on his phone.

 

          ‘do you think you could fix mine’

 

          Francis frowned and the other gave him a challenging look, even though his eyes were telling a different story. There was a small part of him that wished that Will hadn’t asked the question. Perhaps they had had enough to drink tonight. Grimacing, Francis stood, grabbing both of their empty glasses. He swayed slightly.

 

          Before he could move past Will to the kitchen to put the glasses away, his arm was trapped by a hand around his wrist. He paused and looked down at the other in confusion. Sitting before him, the blue-eyed man gazed up at him, with pupils blown wide from intoxication and a tear making a small trek down his face. The other man froze at the sight, looking down helplessly at him.

 

          These were the kind of situations that Francis could avoid when people didn’t like him. They never came to him, looking for answers to hard questions. And…and there were so many questions whirling around Will’s eyes and so many answers being demanded by the bony grip that encased his arm. Francis let his eyes wander down the scar that marred the smooth neck that it had previously been. It was a jagged thing that stretched from behind Will’s right ear to the left side of his jaw, not even letting him have a smooth line that was always seen in fiction. Francis had left his materials at home, not even thinking that Will would let him into the house.

 

          “Do you still have my stuff in the attic?” He asked Will, putting the glasses down. The other nodded, frowning as he tilted his head to the side. Without wasting a second, Francis bounded up the steps and made his way up to the attic, quickly finding the box with his things. A part of him realized that he was drunk and going along with whatever idea was in his brain, but the other part insisted that he was doing this for Will, as the only person that Will could trust with these questions.

 

          Will was about to go back inside when Francis re-emerged with the bag in his hands, a cobweb sticking to the side of his pants.

 

          “Sit. This shouldn’t take too long.” Francis said, putting his things down on the table which creaked at the weight. Although this bag didn’t exactly have the right materials to cover up a scar, he could make do with what he had. Grabbing a cream that was technically used to cover up acne but would do fine for what he was attempting to do, he gently began covering the scar, taking in the sharp breath of air that Will took in. He could feel the Adam’s apple under his fingers move sharply, but Francis ignored it, knowing that if Will genuinely had a problem with what he was doing, he would move away.

 

          And yet the other stayed, seated, feeling his face overheat and his hands twitch nervously at his side as someone else touched the thing that had ruined his life. The yellow porch light gave Dolarhyde an almost halo-look as he gripped Will’s chin with one hand and smeared something on in the other. From here, the scar over Francis’ lip was more pronounced, and Will could see the intense look on his face as he turned to his bag and took out one of the green tints. With quick movements, he dabbed it onto Will’s neck, tilting Will’s head back so that he was staring straight at Francis.

 

          The other only looked at him in quick glances like if he was quickly checking in to make sure that Will wasn’t going to pass out. Maybe it was the alcohol or the previous trust he had in the man, but the ex-actor didn’t feel tense or worried at all. In fact, the whole experience was edged with an almost hazy sense of freedom. He closed his eyes, letting Francis keep his head up, knowing that the other could do it effortlessly.

 

          It seemed like he had shut his eyes for just a second when Francis suddenly started shaking his shoulder gently. Will jerked awake, looking up at the other with half-lidded expression, vaguely aware of the hand that was still gripping his chin. The nighttime air chilled him slightly.

 

          “I’m done.”

 

          It took Will a second to figure out what he meant before he saw the mirror on the table, taking it quickly. He held it up and immediately zeroed in on his neck. It looked…normal, without blemish. Blinking owlishly at himself, he moved his head from left to right, marveling at how little it showed that there was a scar on his neck. Turning his head to Francis, amazed smile on his face, Will opened his mouth and froze at the wheezy sound that escaped.

 

          It hit him like a freight train. He still couldn’t talk. His reflection in the mirror looked back at him with a sorrowed look on his face, going pale. Dolarhyde seemed to have immediately noticed the change in attitude because he pulled the mirror away, putting it down on the table. Will opened his mouth, trying to force out even a word but the only thing that could be heard was the buzzing sound of the porch light and the desperate breathing noise that was escaping his mouth.

 

          Anger filled him, and he glared up at Francis. The other stared back at him with a neutral look on his face even if his stance was telling Will that he felt conflicted like if he was about to bolt at the slightest hint of trouble. Will’s lip curled and he pushed the other away from him and started going inside the house.

 

          “Will?” The other called after him. Francis couldn’t help but feel angry. For as much as he could hide and blend the scar, there wasn’t any way that he could fix his voice. He followed Will into the house where Will was heading towards the kitchen, and a cold flash of fear overtook Francis. “Will, what are you doing?”

 

          Accentuated breaths was his only response and his only warning before Will was reaching for the knives under the counter. Not wasting a second, Francis wrapped his arms around him and pulled him out of the kitchen, with Will biting and kicking before he was dumped onto the couch. He immediately started to try and punch Francis who took a hit to the face before grabbing both of Will’s hands in his, sitting on the other’s knees to stop the man from moving.

 

          Breathing harshly, Francis opened his mouth to say something but stopped when he saw Will’s face. Turned towards the couch, muted sobs shook Will’s frame and never before had Francis seen devastation so clearly on someone’s face, from the pained frown to the trembling lips. Somewhere in their fight, Will’s makeup had been smeared, revealing some of the scar.

 

          “Will,” Francis said softly now, slackening his grip. The other took his hands back and covered his face with one as he cried. “Will, I’m sorry.” He moved off of Will’s legs and navigated them so that the other was leaning against him, arm wrapped around his shoulders. He could feel how the other started to slowly nod off, leaning more heavily on Francis, something that a dark part of him reveled in as he moved his hand up into Will’s hair, feeling the curls around his fingers.

 

          The Great Red Dragon felt at peace, for once, with his soulmate in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry y'all. Hannibal's gonna be back next chapter. Hope y'all are enjoyin'


	12. Chapter 12

 

          When Will usually woke up, it was to a pounding headache and sweat stuck in uncomfortable places that would crack and creak at the slightest movements. His hair was usually matted to his face and he would be shivering after having spent so long waking up to being covered in the warmth of his dogs.

 

          But this morning, it wasn’t night sweat or shivering limbs that he woke up to. It was having his face on someone’s chest who also had an arm wrapped around him. Tilting his face, he froze at the sight of his ex-assistant whose face was lax in sleep, still in the clothes that he had come in yesterday although his hair was more disheveled than how he’d arrived. There was a red glow coming in from the windows, casting long shadows on Francis’ face and something of the scene unsettled Will, the casual domesticity of it all. In the back of Will’s mind he likened it to scenes in romantic movies where the couple could be seen waking up together, sharing each other’s breath.

 

          The other man ran hot, and it was a sharp contrast to the cold mornings that had become his existence. Taking a deep breath, Will let himself enjoy the moment, letting his mind take itself away in imagining that this was normal. That all of his mornings after now would be just like this, suspended in a place that didn’t truly exist. He imagined that all the previous mornings had been a nightmare—a hell that he had managed to escape from. Beneath his ear, he could feel the soft thump of Francis’ slumbering heart.

 

          It was strange to see the other man after being separated for so long, and even after all the time that they had been apart from each other, Francis acted like nothing had changed between them, like if Will hadn’t callously thrown him out.

 

          Shaking his head, Will shook himself out of the sleepy longing that had taken over his thoughts. It was one thing to dream, but it was another to use someone who wasn’t even awake for romantic fodder. As quietly and softly as he could, he extracted himself from the embrace he was in, freezing momentarily at the discontent noise that Francis made. Before the other could wake, Will launched himself towards the kitchen, trying to hide the fact that they had been so close.

 

          The other man simply shifted a little, taking back the arm that had been around Will.

          Sighing in relief, Will made his way to the bathroom to take a piss. That could have been very awkward if Francis had been the first to wake up.

 

          He was washing his hands when he flinched at the sound of the doorbell. Confusion colored his expression, before Will realized that it must be Hannibal, for who else would come this early in the middle of nowhere?

 

* * *

 

 

          It was in Hannibal’s nature to be correct about most things. One didn’t get through medical school without being at least somewhat academically inclined, although some of his peers might prove otherwise. That’s why, when at 5:30 AM on this fine Thursday morning, when it was not Will’s face that greeted him with an open door, Hannibal was rather surprised. Furthermore, there was the question as to what a man like this was doing at Will’s house….overnight.

 

          It seemed like both of them were measuring each other up, because the strange man’s eyes looked at him with muted hostility, eyes going down his body the way a predator would taking stock of its’ prey. Quietly. Reservedly. But with intention of attacking its victim. It had been a long time since Hannibal had seen that look directed at him, but he wasn’t going to let it affect him.

 

          “Who are you?” the man asked, clear disdain in his voice. He crossed his arms that were littered with tattoos. It reminded him of a book he had read once when he was younger, although the actual name seemed to be escaping him at the moment. Regardless, the man’s clear lack of manners was…distasteful, to say the least. Beatrice, who was sitting patiently by his side, had a growl ready on her face. How she takes after her owner.

 

          “Hello,” Hannibal drawled, with a polite, tight smile on his face. His eyes drew down the rumpled clothes. What had Will and him been doing this night? “I was looking for Will? Is he home right now?”

 

          The sound of rapid feet going towards them became louder, and both of them turned to Will who was walking towards them from the corridor. His bright blue eyes jumped between the two of them. Embarrassed, he approached them, hands automatically going to the stand next to the door where his notepad was.

 

          ‘Hannibal, this is Francis. Alana sent him to help with stuff. Francis, this is Hannibal Lecter, the artist who’s painting me.’ Will turned the notepad towards the two of them, and they nodded to each other with a fake relaxed expression.

 

          “It’s a pleasure to meet a _coworker_ of Will’s.” Hannibal put out his hand and the other’s eyes slashed in quick anger at his choice of words before extending his own hand.

 

          “Likewise.” Francis returned as coldly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the lack of updates. College is, well, you know, not cool, but I've managed to make this. I hope to be updating more often so hopefully I will. Hope y'all are enjoying!


	13. Chapter 13

 

There was a short pause between the two of them, each regarding each other with a cold and discerning look. The tension was almost palpable, and Will didn't want to understand why. Everything was going perfectly, so why did this weird tension have to exist now? Almost like if she was reading his thoughts, Beatrice let out a low whine, brushing her nose against his leg, which melted all of the anxiety from Will. He jotted down something as he lowered down to her level, accepting the licks to his face with a wide smile.

 

'Let me take Beatrice out. You can start setting up.'

 

The artist smiled at Will and handed the leash over. Without wasting a second, he went out of the house, pushing out the persistent voice that begged to know why Francis and Hannibal were looking at each other so meanly.

 

* * *

 

 

Meanwhile, in the house, Hannibal remained rooted at the entrance looking at the other man from head to toe, taking in the rumpled look of his clothes to the circles under his eyes. There was something about the man that was off-- it was the look in his eyes that truly revealed some inner struggle. His dabble into psychotherapy, both as patient and therapist, had trained him to notice those who did not fit into the mold of modern soceity, stuck between an instinct and training.

 

"Has Will had breakfast yet?" Hannibal asked politely as he smoothly brushed past him and headed to the kitchen. The other's lip curled up in a snarl as he passed before settling his face on a more natural look, muttering, "No."

 

"Then, I suppose we can make him something, Mr. Dolarhyde."  The smile he shot at the other man was polite and tight, clearly hiding the rather distasteful thoughts he had of the man. For Hannibal, the man before him seemed like a supplementary to Will's personality, a chaotic and disordered foil that in another universe might've been a good fit for Will. But unfortunately for Francis, this universe had allowed for their paths to cross, and his captivation taken.

 

It was at this thought, that hung so dark in his breast, that he turned from Francis and towards the kitchen that had obviously been furnished since yesterday. The once barren counters housed a variety of foods that didn't seem to have a rhythm to it but at the very least, there was more for him to work with. The grapefruit, in particular, looked interesting as a side dish for the breakfast dish he was thinking of doing.

 

He reached for it, but a hand shot at his wrist with a deathly speed. Curious as to what the other seemed to think he was doing, Hannibal let the other's hand wrap around his wrist.

 

Maroon eyes slid up to meet dark green eyes, both frozen in a standoff that would've incited wars if these were days of knights and queens. They would've met and declared war by now, each eager to claim something that was not theirs to take or forfeit. But alas, they lived in the present time, and the extent of their conflict, at least for the moment, was a bony grip tightened to the point of bruising.

 

Hannibal's eyebrow lifted and Francis let go, breaking the eye contact that he'd been struggling to maintain in the first place.

 

"Will doesn't like grapefruit."

 

Even this casual knowledge of Will incited in Hannibal an indescribable fury. Will was his to discover and his to unravel into a torn fray of messy emotions and stilted expressions and soft looks that only canines were free to. If he were his younger self, Francis would already be sprawled across the kitchen counter, split open from chin to bellybutton, letting all of his organs spill from his body, painting Will’s kitchen a new red. Il Mostro would’ve never allowed for such an obvious transgression to take place.

 

Hannibal blinked.

 

What a mess of emotions Will was bringing him to.

 

"Worry not. I'm sure that I can incorporate it into the dish in a way pleasing to Will's palate." He took the grapefruit in his hand and turned towards the open counter, not noticing the dark look that was returned. He began to set up the materials and rummage through the pots and pans, completely ignoring the other in his presence. Even if this were not his kitchen, Hannibal would never allow another to encroach on this territory; his culinary skills were meant to be unblemished by other’s influences. Although…the idea of Will wielding a knife, fingers smeared in the dark purple of crushed berries, perhaps it would be alright to share his terrain.

 

He turned to Francis who had taken an apple and was cutting it up, placing each slice in his mouth, eyes unwavering from Hannibal. Will’s hyper-vigilant dog whose feral bite its owner knew not. There was viciousness in his eyes that Hannibal, if he had pursued being a therapist, would’ve loved to drag out and unleash on the world.

 

“Are you staying for breakfast?” Hannibal asked, reaching past him for a spatula.

 

The other’s lip came to a disgusted sneer, and though he tried to hide it, clear conflict colored his eyes.

 

“Yes. I have to get my stuff, since I’m _moving in_ with Will again.”

 

Hannibal blinked and gave him a cold smile.

 

“Then you’d best leave.” This was delivered with an obvious double meaning, and the other’s shoulder drew up before he turned, dropping the knife in the sink.

 

As he was exiting the kitchen, Francis stopped under the door frame.

 

“I hope you finish your painting soon.” He threw over his shoulder then left. The sound of his motorcycle fading out as the scent of the bacon Hannibal brought filled Will’s house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to Hannibal and Will next chapter! I really appreciate y'all's kind comments!


End file.
